The Adventures of Moriarkin
by SpicklePock
Summary: Sherlock was bored. Halloween had passed and gone, but what happens to all the left over pumpkins? Crack.
1. Moriarkin: Mark 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, none of this is true.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sherlock was bored. Halloween had passed and gone, but what happens to all the left over pumpkins?  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> We had a Moriarty pumpkin on Halloween, so the crack cabbage in my head (I call him Fred) decided that Sherlock makes a Moriarkin, crack ensues, well, that's what's supposed to happen.  
><strong>Edit: <strong>It doesn't want to let me have page breaks, keeps taking them out. Attempting to correct that. **I think it is fixed now, *crosses fingers*.**

**Moriarkin: Mark 1**

Sherlock was bored. He'd been stuck in the flat with nothing to do for the past few weeks and John's nagging was really starting to get on his last nerve. He'd needed to get out, and so here he was, wandering the streets. It was equally as boring as being back at the flat, but at least there was no John grumbling in the background.

He needed a case - desperately, but right now, that seemed unlikely, so if not a case, at least a distraction, something to keep his mind occupied until Lestrade called.

After the pool incident, Lestrade had been a bit more careful in deciding what cases he let Sherlock help on. Sherlock found it very frustrating, he didn't understand where Lestrade was coming from at all, but according to John, he thought he was helping. In reality, he was doing the complete opposite, and now, Sherlock believes that John thinks so too, even if only because he finds Sherlock insufferable when he's bored without a case.

Glancing around at the people walking past, he dismisses them all, one by one as dull, dull, dull. He carried on walking swiftly down the road, not very hopeful, but still keeping an eye out, for something that would take and hold his attention.

As he passed by a supermarket, a sign caught his attention: 'BOGOF on Half-Price Pumpkins'. He paused, eyes scanning the sign and the pumpkins piled underneath. Sherlock never participated in Halloween, but he knew the tradition of cutting faces into pumpkins.

The image of Moriarty's 'shocked' face appeared in the fore front of his mind. In his mind's eye, it merged onto the face of the pumpkin.

"Moriarkin," he muttered as he glared at the pumpkin directly in front of him. "I could have some fun with you."  
><strong><br>Break.**

When Sherlock finally managed to get up the stairs, without killing himself with the massive box that the supermarket had been _kind_enough to 'lend' him, he collapsed gratefully onto the sofa.

Listening carefully, he deduced that John had gone out himself, soon after Sherlock had. Most likely to that pub he likes.

Taking advantage of the fact that he was alone, he stashed the box of pumpkins in the corner of his room, a place he knew that John would never go without express permission.

He pulled out the top one and, cradling it to himself, made his way back into the kitchen.

Placing the pumpkin on the table, he riffled through the draws, looking for an appropriate knife and a bowl for the insides. Finding those, he hurried back to the table, placing both carefully beside the pumpkin.

He stretched out carefully, cracking his knuckles above his head before shaking his hands out, down by his sides. He picked up the knife, and attentively cut off the top. After he'd thoroughly scooped out all the seeds and stringy flesh, he painstakingly began to carve out the face.

His knife slipped a few times as he was trying to carve the eyebrows into the perfect curves he could still picture clearly. When he was satisfied with the eyebrows, he moved onto the eyes. He began to get frustrated as he seemed to be unable to get make the eyes the same size and shape. This was harder than it looked.

Next he decided to do the mouth. It should be relatively easy to just cut a circle. It wasn't. After attempting to fix his wonky circle, he stopped to consider the nose. Sherlock found it difficult to stay patient. He didn't like the fact that it wasn't as easy as he expected it to be, he shouldn't be finding it difficult to cut a face onto a pumpkin, but, frustratingly, he was.

He took his time deciding how he was going to cut it and the shape as it looked like it would be quite awkward to cut. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't easy, but he thought he was managing well enough. At least it was actually looking like how a nose was supposed to look.

It was when the knife ripped through the flesh between the base of the nose and mouth that his patience finally snapped. He stepped back, throwing the knife onto the table. The pumpkin looked a mess. A terrible, hopeless mess. It looked nothing like a face, it was almost unrecognisable as anything other than a wreck of blobs.

He was disappointed and angry that his attempt had failed. He, a grown man could not carve a face onto a stupid pumpkin, when every year, little children could and did. In his anger, his mind disregarded the fact that those children have adult help, and those adults have probably been doing it for years, and so have had practice.

But no, he was Sherlock Holmes. He would not let a pumpkin, especially a Moriarty pumpkin, defeat him. He picked up the pumpkin and flung it at the wall with all his strength.

He watched with a satisfied smirk as it broke into pieces and splattered to the floor.

"Sherlock?" A voice called from the doorway, turning, he saw John stood there. "Sherlock!" John exclaimed as he looked at the mess of pumpkin on the table, before his gaze moved to the wall with the pumpkin splat and then the floor where the remains lay.

"Oops."

"'Oops'? Is that all you can say? 'Oops'?" Ah… John was angry. Not good.

"I'm sorry, John, it wasn't turning out like I'd planned. I got frustrated. Won't happen again."

"Frustrated? You-" John sighed in exasperation as he looked away from Sherlock to take a calming breath, but his gaze caught on the mess and his anger re-ignited. His glare shot back to Sherlock. "You're damn right it won't happen again. I don't care if you were frustrated and angry, or what the hell ever, you don't throw it at the bloody wall, Sherlock! I'm not cleaning it up, by the way, you can clean it up yourself, and then maybe you'll think twice about throwing pumpkins at walls in the future."

Sherlock glanced at the mess disdainfully. "Dull." He said simply, before turning and striding down the hallway to his room, the door slamming behind him.

John stared after him, shocked. "Well, I'm not cleaning it up, so it'll just have to stay there!" he yelled after his flatmate, before he too, turned and stormed off to his own room.  
><strong><br>Break.**

Moriarkin lay in a pool of its own juice and waited.


	2. Moriarkin: The Second Attempt

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, none of this is true.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sherlock was bored. Halloween had passed and gone, but what happens to all the left over pumpkins?  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong>I don't even know. Sherlock's views on pumpkins are fiction, not opinion.

**Moriarkin: The Second Attempt**

He heard the door slam behind him and just stood, staring blankly into his room. What exactly had he done wrong for it to turn out so badly? His eyes fell on his laptop and he made a grab for it. It seemed some research was in order.

He vaguely heard John yell something at him as he waited for his laptop to load, but marked it as unimportant and promptly deleted it from his hard drive. Soon after, he heard John's door slam shut above him.

After the laptop had finished loading, he clicked onto Google and searched for pumpkin carving techniques. He found a lot of useless information that went way beyond what he was trying to do. Most of it seemed over obsessive to him, who really needs to cut such a complicated shape out of a pumpkin? It'll only rot after a few days anyway, so it's completely pointless to go over the top and to waste all that time.

In the midst of all the rubbish, he managed to find some helpful information that would make it easier for him. If he drew the face on first, he has a guide line to cut around, and using smaller knives, and even something like a screwdriver for the fiddly bits, will help immensely.

Focused and confident once again, he felt he was more prepared to make a second attempt.

Knowing that John could stay sulking in his room for hours, he made his way back to the kitchen.

Sitting his new pumpkin where the old one had once been, he emptied the bowl of insides onto the pile of pumpkin on the floor. He rummaged around for some more knives, grabbed a pen and stole the screwdriver John kept on the desk in the living room. Now he was ready.

Just as he was about to start, he paused as a thought came to him. After the first disastrous attempt, he didn't really want to carve Moriarty's 'shocked face' onto the pumpkin anymore, so what should he do instead? He thought for a moment before he decided on the perfect face. This face was what Sherlock refers to in his 'Moriarty face expression index' as the 'Face of Lopsided Innocence'. It was perfect. Simple, but still very obviously recognisable as Moriarty. With that in mind, he got to work. This was going to be the very best Moriarkin ever.

**Break.**

When he'd finished, he stood back to survey his work. It could be a lot better, but was a big improvement to the 'it' that was the last one. Now he was finished, he stared at it contemplatively, what to do with it now?

As he stared, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. It looked like the pumpkin was staring back at him, challenging him to a staring contest that he refused to lose. Sherlock and Moriarkin stared at each other for what could have been hours before John interrupted them. Sherlock nodded at the pumpkin in agreement that they would continue the contest later.

"Still haven't cleaned up the mess, I see." John was still grumpy, even after having time to cool down. Sherlock isn't sure why he's so cross; it's only a bit of mess, not anything drastic.

"Is that? Did you- Sherlock! We have a bin you know, right behind you. It would've been much easier for you to chuck the pips in the bin then to walk over here to add them to the pile _you_are cleaning up!"

Sherlock sighed. "Oh, John, why do you insist on boring me so? You know I do not clean, that's for you and Mrs Hudson to do."

"Me and Mrs Hud- No. No it isn't 'our job'. 1)Mrs Hudson is our landlady, not our housekeeper, as she reminds you daily, 2)I shouldn't have to clean up after you like I'm your bloody mother, and 3)We both live here, you should do your share of the chores too, instead of just expecting me to do it all.

"You sit at home doing nothing but making mess for days on end, while I go out to work and then have to come home and pick up after you, well, I'm not doing it anymore, you're a grown man, you can clean up after yourself."

"You are swearing a lot today, John." Sherlock replied calmly.

"Swearing? After all I just said, that is the only thing you pick up on? You are beyond..."

"Beyond?" Sherlock raised an inquisitive brow.

"Yes, beyond. Beyond explanation, beyond my patience, beyond." he replied. He looked at the pumpkin, turning it to face him. "What's with the pumpkins anyway? And what kind of face is that supposed to be?"

"I saw them and decided they would amuse me until my next case." Sherlock told him. He walked back to his room, intent on getting another pumpkin so he could try another face in the index. "I call that one the Face of Lopsided Innocence." he shouted as an afterthought.

"The face of lopsided what?" John asked with his adorable confused look. It was much better than the 'faux confused' look that Moriarty had. Speaking of, maybe he should carve that one next.

"Brilliant, thank you John."

"Thank you? What?"

"For showing me the next face I should cut into this pumpkin." he answered with his, 'stop being and idiot, John' face. John knew that face well, but he didn't know what other faces Sherlock was talking about.

"I showed you a face to cut? When?"

"You're showing me now, the face of 'faux confusion'" Sherlock replied, very patiently, he thought.

"'Faux confusion'? This confusion isn't fake, it is very very real." John told him, even more confused.

"Yes, I know _your_confusion is real, but Moriarty's wasn't, which is why it is labelled as fake in my index." Sherlock wore his 'I expect understanding' look as he waited for John's response.

"Right, because that explains everything..." It seemed his expectation was misplaced. "You have an index for Moriarty?"

"For his expressions, yes."

"Ok... Why?"

"Because I have to categorise these things John, how else would I be able to find anything in my mind palace if there was no order? Now please, I am busy, your confusion is quickly turning annoying and distracting, go be confused elsewhere."

"Alright, fine, but please don't make any more mess and clean up the pumpkin before I get back." With that, he grabbed his coat from where he had left it and headed back out again.

Sherlock waited in silence until he heard the door shut, shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the pumpkins. "That is as likely to happen as Lestrade is to call," he mutters to Moriarkin, "honestly, John and his delusions. Now where was I? Ah yes, 'faux confusion' or the continuation of the staring contest. Oh, the choices..."

He paused, once again, his eyes began to narrow. "It seems the staring contest is at the top of the list at the moment, well then, it seems the game, Moriarkin, is on."

**Break.**

The staring contest lasted for hours, but Sherlock finally won when he punched Moriarkin in the face, destroying his eyes and therefore becoming the winner. This Moriarkin was also added to the pile by the wall. Together, the Moriarkin's waited.


	3. Moriarkin: Third Time Lucky

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, none of this is true.  
><strong>Summary:<strong>Sherlock was bored. Halloween had passed and gone, but what happens to all the left over pumpkins?

**Moriarkin: Third Time Lucky**

Full of accomplished glee at his success of carving a passable face in the last pumpkin, Sherlock decided to get started on the face of 'faux confusion'.

He worked carefully, determined to get this one perfect. When he was finished, he stepped back. No. Once again, it had gone horribly wrong. It looked nothing like what he had pictured, turned out nothing like he had planned. How had he regressed from the last one to this one?

A wave of anger crashed through him. He threw the pumpkin on the floor, jumping on it and crushing it into pieces.

The anger passed just as quickly as it had come and he stared at the mess on the floor.

"I shall learn from you." he told the mush of pumpkin, "next time, it will turn out brilliantly." he vowed.

He found out the dust-pan and brush from under the sink and swept what he could of the ruined pumpkin from the floor. It was then added to the pile with a slop, the seeds soon following.

**Break.**

True to his word, the next pumpkin was by far his best. This time he had decided to go with the childish grin that he remembered from when Moriarty had come back in with the snipers. The words 'I'm sooo changeable' flashed across the image.

"I wonder how much you'll change after I smash you with a sledgehammer? I'm sure John has one, or at least a hammer, somewhere." Sherlock wondered as he contemplated the new Moriarkin.

Decided, he added 'Hammer (sledge?)' next to 'Childish grin' on his list, crossing it out as he did so.

Entering his mind palace, he perused the list to see which face he should do next. He scanned the crossed off ones first before looking through what he had left over.

Shocked face - Thrown at wall  
>Lopsided innocence - Punched<br>Faux confusion - Crushed  
>Childish grin - Hammer(sledge?)<p>

Rage - ? This face, he would do last of all. He promptly moved it to the end.  
>Calm, assured amusement - ?<br>Grimace face - ?  
>Considering face - ?<br>Smug confidence - ?  
>Serious face - ?<p>

He browsed through the rest of them and established an order. Resolved, he quickly shuffled them around until they were all in the correct place. Afterwards, his new list read:

Smug confidence - ?  
>Grimace face - ?<br>Serious face - ?  
>Considering face - ?<br>Calm, assured amusement - ?  
>Rage - ?<p>

He would choose a way of destruction for each after he had made them, that way he had more time to think of the best way to maim them.

He quickly and efficiently cut off the tops and scooped out all of the insides, that, he had got very good at. As he only had six pumpkins left, he didn't have any to waste, so he made sure he carved them all very carefully this time, he couldn't afford to mess any of them up. They had to be perfect.

It took him a few hours, but when he was done he was slightly disappointed, in himself and his efforts. They were no way near good enough, but it seems that they were the best he could conjure.

As he looked at them, he decided that the fact that they were badly carved - by his standards, would make it all the more pleasurable to destroy them.

He lined them all up around the table, turning them all so that they faced inwards. "Don't mind me, chat amongst yourselves." he told them with a smirk before he went off on a mad hunt around the flat to find appropriate tools.

He brought them all back and piled them on the table inside the circle of pumpkins. The hammer he picked up and placed in front of the pumpkin with the 'childish grin'.

He sorted through the rest of the pile, discarding some things here and there that he thought would not be up to the task. When he came to the harpoon, it was with great reluctance that he placed it to one side, too cumbersome, unfortunately.

When he had sorted through them all, he set each object by a pumpkin. When he was done, he looked at the face that was at the end of his list. Rage. He wanted to do something special with it, but he couldn't yet think of what.

Leaving it as a blank, he filled in the rest of the list.

Shocked face - Thrown at wall  
>Lopsided innocence - Punched<br>Faux confusion - Crushed  
>Childish grin - Hammer(sledge?)<br>Smug confidence - Blowtorch  
>Grimace face - Microwave<br>Serious face - Knife  
>Considering face - Bat<br>Calm, assured amusement - Acid  
>Rage - ?<p>

Now all the pumpkins were made and crossed off, he had the entertainment of destruction.

He pulled the first pumpkin in front of him, picking up the hammer; he tested its weight in his hand. After a few practice swings, he was satisfied and started his wild blows. He crushed the pumpkin enthusiastically, each hit getting harder and harder until there was nothing left but a smudge.

Shaking out the tension from his shoulders, he moved onto the next one. Grabbing his goggles, he covered his eyes and let loose. He watched gleefully as the pumpkin shrivelled into a melted, burnt blob before his eyes.

Next he shoved the pumpkin in microwave, turned it up to full heat and let it blast. He watched eagerly through the window, but soon became bored. "How dull," he told the Moriarkin, taking it out and throwing it onto the pile.

After that failure, he wielded the knife dangerously but fearlessly, chopping away vigorously until he was satisfied. Breathing deeply, he smiled at his handy work.

Next, he used the bat like he had the knife and the hammer, beating the pumpkin to a pulp. He found it all strangely therapeutic.

Finally, he came to the acid. Getting out a metal tray, he placed the pumpkin in it and poured on the acid. It was very invigorating to watch the acid eat away at the flesh and Sherlock was able to wait calmly and patiently until it was all gone.

Clearing up all the remains of the other Moriarkins, he finally turned his attention to the last one remaining.

Sherlock placed it on John's chair as he stared at it contemplatively. As he was trying to decide how to destroy it, John wandered into the kitchen. His face was buried in the newspaper as he shuffled his way to the table and sat in his chair, right on top of the pumpkin. He looked up from the paper for a shocked second before the pumpkin gave way under his weight and he hit the chair with a squelchy thump.

They stared at each other in stunned silence. Finally, Sherlock gave a small chuckle. "Well, that solves that problem."

Sherlock waved John out of the way impatiently. He gathered up the remains of the pumpkin and threw it down with the others on the ever growing pile.

"Sherlock, put them in the bin." John admonished with a frown.

"No. You do it if you're so bothered."

"I've already said that I won't clean up after you, Sherlock."

"Then stop complaining." Sherlock replied with a pointed look. John had long ago learnt it meant 'don't be an idiot'. John sighed and shook his head.

"Fine, I give up, you win." He carefully folded up the paper and laid it on the table. He stood for a second, watching as Sherlock picked up the bowl that contained all of seeds from the last few pumpkins. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything as Sherlock chucked them on the pile. Sherlock looked at him over his shoulder as he dumped the bowl in the sink. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. When he opened his eyes, he saw Sherlock making his way down the corridor to his room. He watched him for a moment before turning and marching out.

**Break.**

The puddle of juice seeped into the carpet. It was nearly time. Soon, the Moriarkins would have to wait no longer.


	4. Moriarkin: Revenge

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, none of this is true.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sherlock was bored. Halloween had passed and gone, but what happens to all the left over pumpkins?  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong>Well, finally over. This... It went absolutely nowhere that I thought it was going to go. Not a clue what the hell this is... Oh well, hope it didn't fail too badly. Damn you, Fred Cabbage.

**Moriarkin: Revenge**

Sherlock woke up to hissing. He sat up and looked around, but couldn't find the source of the noise. Shrugging, he clambered out of bed and shrugged on his dressing gown.

"John!" he called as he wandered into the kitchen. "John. Make me tea."

"Make your own tea." John replied from behind this morning's paper.

Sherlock watched him for a few seconds before drifting over to the kettle, grumbling under his breath.

As the kettle was coming to boil, he heard the hissing noise again. He stopped moving, straining to hear. "John, did you hear that?"

"Hmm? Hear what?"

"That hissing?"

"Hissing?"

"Yes, John, hissing. Why do you need to keep repeating what I say? Did you hear it? It sounded like a word."

John shot him a glare over the newspaper. "No, I didn't. It was probably just the kettle." he finally replied.

Sherlock took a suspicious glance around the kitchen. "I'm not so sure."

**Break.**

The rest of their morning went much the same, Sherlock sure that he could hear a hissing noise and John telling him that he must be hearing things.

That all changed when they went out for lunch.

"John, wait. Over there. On that wall to the left of us. Do you see it?"

"I- Is that a pumpkin?"

"Yes, I also believe it is the source of the hissing. Do you hear it now?"

John tilted his head in a typical 'listening' pose. "Yes... yes, I can hear it."

Sherlock tugged John's sleeve, pulling him slightly behind him as he slowly made his way past the pumpkin. John followed closely behind him.

They both watched, shocked as the pumpkin seemed to slowly turn and follow them as they walked past.

"Is it just me or is that pumpkin moving?" John asked nervously.

"No, it is definitely moving." Sherlock paused, so did the pumpkin "Interesting." The moved away quickly, not wanting to be near it for too long.

"Sssherkin... Pumpsson..." it hissed at their retreating backs.

**Break.**

After that, every time they turned around, there was always a pumpkin there, watching them, hissing the same two words that they never seemed to be able to hear clearly.

"Is this some kind of prank?" John asked him after he came face to face with another pumpkin.

"No," Sherlock replied. "Haven't you noticed?"

"Noticed? Noticed what, exactly? I can't seem to notice anything but a load of pumpkins that appear where ever we are and follow us as we move!"

"Ten."

"What?"

"Not 'a load', ten. Ten specific pumpkins. All of which, I spent yesterday carving. This is no coincidence, this is personal. They want something from us, and I'm sure they will follow us until they get it." Sherlock told him.

"Want something from us? Sherlock, they're pumpkins!"

"Yes, I am aware of that, thank you John."

"But, you destroyed them- How can they-? How can a pumpkin want something from someone?" John asked, glancing around himself nervously.

"I don't know, yet, but I will find out."

For the rest of the day, they saw no more pumpkins directly, only catching glimpses out of the corners of their eyes, but when they turned to look, there would be nothing there. Even though they couldn't see them, they had proof that they were still being followed because they continued to hear the ominous hissing noise.

Back at the flat, they sat in the living room in a nervous silence. The atmosphere set them both on edge and when it was finally a decent time to go to sleep, they both felt relieved.

As Sherlock got ready for bed that night, he had a very uneasy feeling that went right to his core. After tossing and turning for a few hours, he eventually managed to fall into an unsettled sleep.

**Break.**

John and Sherlock stared at the pumpkin in front of them, one apprehensive, the other, over eager.

Sherlock studied the pumpkin with interest. "Fascinating! What are you?"

"Sherlock! Don't talk to it." John edged away from the pumpkin, trying to urge Sherlock away from it too, without getting too close himself. He watched it warily.

"I am what you made me. Ghosst, deformed, mutated." John started suddenly when he heard the slow, hair-raising voice. It spoke with a cold hiss. John immediately recognises it as the noise they had been hearing.

"Mutated? How?" asks Sherlock, seemingly unsurprised.

"Anger. Hate. They create thingss you don't exsspect, don't believe posssible. Thingss that you don't undersstand. They create nightmaressss..." John felt a shiver run down his spine. That really didn't sound good.

"What do you want?" he asked, he was scared, but also desperate for the answer.

"Revenge. You." Not good at all. John looked at Sherlock, trying to gauge his reaction. Shelock's face was blank. "Sssherkin... Pumpsson... Perfect ssspecssimenss to add to the collectssion. The converssion will ssoon begin. Sssss..."

The sinister hiss made the hairs on the back of John's neck stand on end. He shivered again and stepped back a few paces to put more space between him and the pumpkin.

Slowly, it swivelled to face him. "Yesss. We will sstart with you." Abruptly all ten pumpkins appeared.

"What?" John stared at them all cautiously.

"Why us?" Sherlock demanded.

"Becausse you were the oness who made uss what we are. Punisshment must be recssieved by the guilty. You created uss, you desstroyed uss. You desserve our fate!"

"Wha- Your fate? Punishment?"

"John?"

"Sherlock?"

"I think we should run. Now!" They took off; the pumpkins close behind, hissing angrily.

**Break.**

"Pumpsson... You will be ourss." The slow hiss reached Sherlock's ears, but he refused to look back. They had to keep running; he could see no other way, no other option.

"Hurry up, John!" he called. They had to stay safe, _John_had to stay safe. Conversion. John could not be turned into a nightmare. John didn't even have anything to do with it. He'd only be caught up because of Sherlock. Why? Why did John have to become involved? All because of that last pumpkin. He'd sat on it by accident, he hadn't meant to destroy it, so why were they involving John?

A pumpkin appeared unexpectedly and caught between John's feet. John fell with a yell. It seemed as if it was almost in slow motion as Sherlock spun around, his own momentum causing him to stumble.

"No! John!" He ran towards him hopelessly, he was too far away, he wouldn't make it. "John!" he called again, but it was too late, the pumpkins had reached him.

_'To punish me.'_ he realised as he watched, helpless as John was surrounded. _'He is always only ever involved to hurt and harm me.'_

There was a flash of blinding light. Everything went dark.

**Break.**

Sherlock woke up with a start, taking deep, hurried breaths, he sat up, eyes wide in the dark.

"It was a dream, just a dream." he repeated to himself, trying to calm down. He looked around for something to distract himself with, when his eyes fell on the pumpkin that had appeared right in front of him. He froze.

"Sssherkin, come to uss..." Suddenly more pumpkins leapt into the air from nowhere, all of them heading straight towards Sherlock. Sherlock yelped, trying to scramble away. He paused in shock, unable to help himself as one pumpkin had caught his attention. He would recognise that expression anywhere.

"John!" he called desperately.

"No, I am Pumpsson now. Join uss, Sssherkin. Join. Usss!" With that, all of the pumpkins surrounded Sherlock, moving in tighter until they were all pressed against him. He struggled desperately, but it was no use. With a pop a new pumpkin appeared in his place.

"Sssherkin, welcome..." The many hissing voices trailed off into silence, their revenge was complete, now they could do anything they wanted...

Pumpson and Sherkin, London's only consulting pumpkins. The city was theirs. Theirs to convert. Theirs to take over. Theirs to control.

Beware of the pumpkins with faces. Know, they are always watching.


End file.
